‘Silence,’ cried the priest. ‘Chosen of the Immortals, close your eyes!’
The sky grew lighter and lighter, and at last the sun peered redly over the down, and [p91 the first ray of the morning sunlight fell full on the altar stone and on the face of Quentin.
And, as it did so, a very tall, white-robed priest with a deer-skin apron and a curious winged head-dress stepped forward. He carried a great bronze knife, and he waved it ten times in the shaft of sunlight that shot through the arch and on to the altar stone.
‘Thus,’ he cried, ‘thus do I bathe the sacred blade in the pure fountain of all light, all wisdom, all splendour. In the name of the ten kings, the ten virtues, the ten hopes, the ten fears I make my weapon clean! May this temple of our love and our desire endure for ever, so long as the glory of our Lord the Sun is shed upon this earth. May the sacrifice I now humbly and proudly offer be acceptable to the gods by whom it has been so miraculously provided. Chosen of the Gods! return to the gods who sent thee!’
A roar of voices rang through the temple. The bronze knife was raised over Quentin. He could not believe that this, this horror, was the end of all these wonderful happenings.
‘No—no,’ he cried, ‘it’s not true. I’m not the Chosen of the Gods! I’m only a little boy that’s got here by accidental magic!’
‘Silence,’ cried the priest, ‘Chosen of the Immortals, close your eyes! It will not hurt. [p92 This life is only a dream; the other life is the real life. Be strong, be brave!’
Quentin was not brave. But he shut his eyes. He could not help it. The glitter of the bronze knife in the sunlight was too strong for him.
He could not believe that this could really have happened to him. Every one had been so kind—so friendly to him. And it was all for this!
Suddenly a sharp touch at his side told him that for this, indeed, it had all been. He felt the point of the knife.